


The Nipple Experiment

by Percygranger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Experimentation kink, Human Furniture, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Nipple Torture, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-02 04:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12719661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: John and Sherlock meet as kinksters first, and decide to focus on one specific body part...Written to fill akinkmeme prompt.Beta-ed by the lovely and supportive pandoras_chaos!





	The Nipple Experiment

“I don’t think we need to talk about any of the zeroes at the moment. I will of course avoid your hard limits as best I am able.” 

 

Sherlock nodded, eager to move on. 

 

John tapped his fingers against the table. “These lists are helpful, but they don’t really address some of the...extended activities I like,” John said, gaze steady. “You’re a scientist; you enjoy experimentation, yes?” 

 

Sherlock smirked, “Of course I do.” 

 

“I’m sure I’ll be finding out soon, but what areas do you find particularly sensitive?” John opened the notepad he’d taken out of his bag, along with the filled out lists. 

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but answered, “Beyond the obvious? My pectorals, my ears, and my feet. What did you have in mind?” 

 

John wrote a short note, then spoke: “I find that I and most of my previous partners have enjoyed sensitivity training. We pick one area, not always one they’ve found very erogenous before, but often so, and stimulate it in different ways: impacts, clamping, temperature play…” 

 

“And the hypothesis you’re testing?” 

 

“Oh, there’s multiple ends in sight. Often, we’re trying new sensations and seeing how long it takes for them to fade, and the same after we layer more than one in a shorter time period. There’s also the effects of overstimulation: how long until pleasure becomes pain, and does it turn back again, for instance. It’s rare, but some people can even come from extended play. How long can the subject stand a particular stimulus...and then there’s the emotional effects. The lingering effects are a constant reminder of a scene as they go about their routine. If our partnership ended up working out, and you enjoyed the trial, I could see it being a daily part of our lives.” John spoke steadily, only his eyes betraying a keen interest in Sherlock’s reactions.

 

Sherlock’s nostrils flared, pupils dilating as he listened. After a moment of silence, he nodded. “I would be interested in such a series of experiments, Dr Watson.” 

 

“Excellent.” John made another mark on his notepad. “That’s all I had to discuss. Did you have anything to add?” 

 

Sherlock shook his head.

 

“I’ll be coming by after the weekend, then. Feel free to text me with ideas. I can’t guarantee I’ll take any of your suggestions, but I find it helpful in determining preferences early on.”

 

Sherlock huffed, “Yes, I can see how it would be.” Then he stood, and lead the way to the door. 

 

John held out a hand, and Sherlock took it, pulling John closer, until they were chest to chest. John cocked his head, then shifted forward, putting Sherlock off-balance. Following the push and pull until he was pressed against the door, Sherlock grinned, finding an answering one on John’s face. They kissed, long and heated, until John pulled back. “I have a shift. Until next time, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock watched as John walked away, down the stairs, out the door. He resisted the urge to watch him continue down the street through the window. This may actually go well, for once. Sherlock tried, but couldn’t quite squash the hope rising inside.

 

*&*&*

 

It doesn’t take long for John and Sherlock to decide on a body part. Sherlock was impatient, but full of ideas, and only calmed when John took a more methodical approach. 

 

“Feet? No, arms. Well-” 

 

“How about something more hands-on?” John interrupted.

 

“Mm?” Sherlock focused back on John, meal forgotten in front of him. John had invited him over, made him food, and once past the usual pleasantries (Sherlock was surprised to find himself marginally interested in John’s day) inevitably the conversation had turned to scening. 

 

“We could go into that bedroom over there,” John motioned with his fork to the doorway, “and I could touch every part of you that we’re interested in, and based on your reactions, and my pleasure, decide.” 

 

Sherlock, stilled by the images John was creating, nodded thoughtfully. “An acceptable notion.” 

 

John huffed, “Just acceptable. What would get you to say I’m a genius?”

 

“Probably more than you’re capable of,” Sherlock stated off-handedly, then his eyes widened. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

 

John smiled, understanding. “No, I get it. You’ve been smarter than the vast majority of people you meet. It causes some damage.”

 

“I’m not damaged!” Sherlock shot back, looking insulted.

 

“Well, your social skills certainly aren’t top shelf, either.” John said, wry. 

 

Sherlock took a breath, then acknowledged the point with a head tip. “They’re not meant to be, though.” 

 

“Oh? I’d love to see you when you’re all grace and skill, then.” 

 

“So says everyone I’ve met. It’s funny how quickly they backpedal…” Sherlock mused. He brightens. “I’ll have to show you, next case we work together.”

 

“What?” John laughed, “Why not now?” 

 

“You’ll see.” 

 

John nodded acquiescence and then rose. “Shall we, Mister Holmes?”

 

“Indeed we shall, Doctor Watson.” Sherlock pushed back his chair, and hastened to follow John’s steps towards the bedroom.

 

*&*&*

 

“Hmm, oh!” Sherlock jerked slightly as John pinched him, following gentle fingers and a soft tongue. 

 

“Your reactions here are delightful.” John ran a soothing finger across the nipple he’d just plucked, smiling as Sherlock sighed happily. 

 

“I told you my pectorals were sensitive,” Sherlock replied.

 

“Yes, well, sensitive is in the eye of the beholder, and people react to such things very differently.” John dragged his nail down, bisecting the areola, catching briefly on the nub, then reached up to do it again. “I’ve been kicked, elbowed, kneed, and on one occasion, slapped for touching people the wrong way...mostly accidentally.” He grinned.

 

Shivering at the sensation, Sherlock managed, “Accidental on their part, or yours?”

 

“Theirs.” John started kissing his way up Sherlock’s chest, beginning below the nipple, then paying it plenty of attention when he arrived. He pulled off to add, “perhaps you’ve noticed, I’m the deliberate sort.” Then he bared his teeth, and slowly, deliberately, closed them around the moist, red flesh. 

 

Sherlock groaned as John’s teeth sunk in, the pain a dull metallic feeling suddenly given counterpoint as John’s hand found his other nipple. “Oh god.” 

 

John nipped a few more times, softer, thumbing its twin in tandem, and let go. Sherlock made a protesting noise, but let John continue moving up his chest. John sucked hard on Sherlock’s neck when he arrived, Sherlock encouraging him in the way he arched his back and small sighs of pleasure. Eventually, he found Sherlock’s mouth, and they kissed, moving from long dragging brushes to light but claiming tongues.

 

Finally pulling back far enough to focus on Sherlock’s eyes, John spoke: “I really like your nipples.” He brought a hand to lay near one, fingers framing Sherlock’s breast. “I mean, your neck is also delightful, and you weren’t kidding about your feet, but considering the work you do, I think I prefer these for a long-term project, no?” He brushed a thumb over the side he’d left mostly alone.

 

Sherlock smiled, “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

 

*&*&*

 

“You ready?” John asked, gaze focused on Sherlock, but expression so near an eager smile it made Sherlock tug on the ropes around his wrists one last time. 

 

“Yes,” Sherlock stopped himself from saying more, unsure if it’d come out eager or annoyed. 

 

John just smiled, and moved to circle Sherlock’s waiting chest, clamp in hand. They’d done little in the way of scening for the last week, busied by a murderer who disguised his kills as victims of suicide. After John’s life-saving help, Sherlock had invited John to live with him. Discussing the risks of moving too fast in full, excruciating detail, John had accepted. Then they’d taken time to adjust to living together. This was their first scene to (finally) incorporate the discussed experiment.

 

John continued circling Sherlock’s nipple until Sherlock broke, pushing his chest forward slightly. John tsked, but opened the teeth of the clamp, and slowly placed it, the vulnerable, peaked flesh centered in its jaws. He let it close, and Sherlock held himself as still as he could, almost vibrating in his skin. It didn’t hurt much at all, the sensation arousing more than anything, until John released it completely, removing his hand. Sherlock winced, breathing, trying to adjust to the feeling: a steady burning ache that seemed to ebb and flow. 

 

Sherlock met John’s eyes, which were taking in his reaction greedily. Sherlock felt incredibly exposed, like he’d burnt through a layer of skin. Then John reached for the second clamp, and Sherlock couldn’t help but focus on John’s every movement in return. This one hurt slightly differently, a bit more, and the disparity annoyed Sherlock. 

 

“How’s it going?” John asked. 

 

“Fine, green,” Sherlock replied, “Just new.” 

 

“Glad to hear it,” John said easily, and traced over other parts of Sherlock’s skin until the bright edge of pain faded, and Sherlock relaxed. Then he dragged his fingers across Sherlock’s chest, disturbing the position of the clamps. 

 

“Ah,” Sherlock winced again, back curving in protectively, and had to force himself to lie back again at John’s look. He watched, internally cringing, as John brought his hand down slowly, fingers splayed. But instead of more pain, sparks of pleasure formed as John gently stroked the very tips of Sherlock’s nipples, held inside the clamps. Sherlock melted back, enjoying the sensation as John repeated the gesture several times, alternating between dragging his nails and the pads of his fingers over the dark, sensitive flesh. 

 

“Deep breath,” John instructed, and Sherlock inhaled almost instinctively. He had to hold back a noise, his mouth opening, air escaping, when John pressed the clamps down into his chest, the faded pain flaring back to life, sudden and vicious. His preparatory breath let him stay still for several seconds, but eventually he ran out of air. His next inhale made it all worse, John’s hands riding his chest up but  _ twisting  _ and fuck did it hurt. Sherlock keened. 

 

John held on for a few seconds longer, backing off when it was clear he wasn’t doing it for Sherlock’s sake. Sherlock went limp, head falling to the side, his chest heaving. John stroked along Sherlock’s shoulders, tracing his collarbone. When Sherlock met his eyes again, they burned with heated pleasure. 

 

“You did well.”

 

Sherlock smiled, trying to bring his breathing back under control. His nipples ached, the immediate pain lessening back to what he was starting to realize was a baseline. He fluttered a hand, “I usually do well at most things. I’ll have to try harder.”

 

John smiled, a dark twist still present. “Can you take a bit more? Or do you want them off?” 

 

“I...one more thing, I think.” Sherlock tested the idea in his head, found the excitement of pleasing John this way overwhelmed any instinctual flinch there might be about more pain. “More, please.”

 

John’s smile grew teeth at the words. “You asked for it.” Giving him no time to prepare, John took hold of the teeth end of the pegs and pulled them up, stretching the areolas taut. 

 

Sherlock shook his head as the pain returned, the hot stretch reaching up to his nipples as the pegs dug in viciously. He strained his wrists against the ropes, not truly meaning to interfere, glad, in a way, to have an outlet. 

 

John let the pegs down, granting Sherlock a moment of relief, only to pull again, one at a time, making Sherlock achingly aware of each side. Eyes moving between the flesh he was hurting and Sherlock’s face, John grinned, delighted, at each reaction he provoked.

 

*&*&*

 

Sherlock, after suffering through the inevitable removal, was disappointed at how quickly the soreness dissipated. John’s frequent checks notwithstanding, he barely felt as if anything had happened after six hours. 

 

John nodded at Sherlock’s complaints. “I expected as much, since we only used pegs. Don’t worry, we’ll work our way up.” He fit himself behind Sherlock and unerringly found his left nipple even with clothing in the way. Sherlock stifled a gasp at the heavy pinch. “We’ve only just begun.”

 

The next day John left Sherlock alone, much to Sherlock’s disgruntlement. Admittedly, this was because John was out, attending errands and a half shift at the local surgery, not because he wanted to be away. He had plans to make up for it later, he’d promised. 

 

Even so, Sherlock was still surprised when John revealed a diverse selection of objects the next day, arranged carefully on the bed. Some were obvious as to their nature, the clamps, candle, and riding crop only having limited uses. The pants hanger and hairclips were creative, he supposed, but sandpaper, office supplies, a coldpack...and muscle ointment?

 

“I’m going to use all of these on you, eventually,” John said. 

 

Sherlock felt a thrill at the quiet confidence of that statement. With a glance at John for permission, he picked up a thumbtack. “How?”

 

“Those, I put a good few through a piece of fabric, usually a bra insert, and you wear it for a set time.” He noted Sherlock’s skeptical expression. “You’d be surprised at the sensations, especially if you’re already sensitized...and of course, other, less humiliating methods can be arranged if you’re truly against wearing a piece of women’s clothing.”

 

Shaking his head, Sherlock corrected, “Nothing against that, I’m just surprised I never considered it before, or saw anything…” 

 

“This is specialized, and getting into the do-it-yourself area.” John grins. “You’d be surprised at what carries over.”

 

“Right, so, what’s the game?” Sherlock looked at John, eyes narrowed speculatively. 

 

Gesturing at the table. “As a reward for waiting yesterday, I’m letting you pick one for me to use. Although, fair warning, it might not be the only thing I use on you.”

 

Intrigued, Sherlock put the tack down and examined the objects again, more thoroughly. He picked a few of them up, testing the springs on the clamps, feeling the grain of the sandpaper. He swished the crop through the air, feeling the balance and the bend. Decided, Sherlock offered a handful of rubber bands to John. 

 

John didn’t react much besides nodding acceptance. Taking the bands, he motioned towards the bed. Sherlock felt his breathing speed up.

 

Following John’s direction, Sherlock removed his shirt and laid down, his nipples going hard at the exposure. John leaned over, and grabbed the nearest nipple with fingers ringed by a rubber band, the pressure steady, not painful. The band dug into Sherlock’s skin as John stretched and turned it, the pinch getting worse as John laid down each layer, the amount of rubber to stretch decreasing. Done with the first, John reached for the second. The band already in place turned, rolling on itself. It felt as though someone had flicked him, but was barely a distraction from the increasing pinch of the next band as John crossed it back on itself. 

 

After both were in place, John leaned back, watching. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he liked the look of it. His flesh was caught and gathered into little balls outside the bands, steadily turning darker as  pain started to rise. It was almost an itch, making Sherlock want to rub it away. He started to reach for them, curious how they felt when trapped like this, but hesitated, looking at John.

 

John shook his head, but brought his own hand forward, thumbing gently at the tip of one. It didn’t feel much different than usual, perhaps a bit dulled, beyond the aching pain of constriction. 

 

It didn’t take long for John to look at his watch and start to pull them off again. Sherlock winced, the itch turning into something more painful as the rubber rolled in unexpected ways, pinching smaller bits of skin until it finally came off the tip. John immediately grabbed Sherlock’s breasts, stretching the flesh up for him to see. The part that had been trapped was a definite darker shade than the rest of the nipple, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as after the clamps when John pushed his fingers into it, a miniature massage. If anything, it felt good, the color normalizing. He was more sensitive now, Sherlock realized. 

 

“This is good to do to you before we do something else, or if I’m away and want you to do something yourself.” John flicked at both sides at once, making Sherlock wince. “Speaking of…” John leaned over and picked up the crop. He thwacked the bed with it, challenging look on his face. 

 

Sherlock swallowed, but nodded, willing to go along. 

 

John got off the bed. “I want you up, standing with your hands behind your head and back against the wall.”

 

Sherlock obeyed, moving under John’s watchful eye. The position was unusual, exposed, and he felt hyper-aware of them both, and especially of the crop’s small movements in John’s hand. The wall was cool against his back, hard and unforgiving where it touched his shoulder blades.

 

Once he was in place, John positioned himself to Sherlock’s left, tapping gently on his chest as he checked his swing. Sherlock did his best to stay calm, regulating his breathing. But warm up taps turned into stinging hits, making him gasp, a quick indrawn breath, and try not to flinch as the crop came towards him. John moved back and forth at first, tagging each nipple one at a time, then upped it to three each, overlapping where he hit. Sherlock dearly wanted to hunch over, cover himself, the pain abruptly coming up a few levels. It was a battle to stay as still as possible, exposing himself for this, for John. 

 

Sherlock was jerking, a full-body flinch with each stinging hit, by the time John took a break. John smiled at Sherlock as he returned to tapping gently. Sherlock tried to relax, and found himself panting. 

 

“You need to remember to breathe,” John said, “but otherwise, you’re doing well. How are you feeling? Color?” Tapping turned into long, dragging strokes. 

 

“Green, and I’d like to see you try this. Breathing just makes me more of a target,” Sherlock retorted, annoyed. 

 

John tched, “No need to get angry. I’ve got more experience, and I’m just trying to help.” He landed a mild blow in time with his last word. Sherlock flinched, breath halting, and John waited until he started again to resume motion himself, dragging the loop of the keeper so that it caught on Sherlock’s nipples. 

 

Sherlock whimpered. “I know what you’re doing. Positive reinforcement.”

 

“Yep, because it works.” John grinned. “Even if you know it’s happening.” He started tapping again, harder. “Ready for more?”

 

Watching John warily, Sherlock said, “Yes.”

 

“Good.” And John went back to work, laying down a nice, even, straight path of blows that intercepted both nipples, only pausing when Sherlock stopped breathing. Sherlock endeavored to start again quickly, defiant eyes locking with John’s, angry at his own body for betraying him, and attempting to avoid John’s methods, even as he did exactly as John wished him to do.

 

John stared back, amused. This time the reward was a fleeting stroke of his crotch. Sherlock was surprised to find himself hard. Grinning, John upped the ante by beginning a random campaign of blows, instructing Sherlock to close his eyes.

 

Sherlock would swear just eliminating his sight made everything at least twice a bad. The uncertainty of when and how hard and where made him anticipate and wince (and hold his breath). It was frustrating and exhilarating, giving this much trust to another person. By the time John decided they were done, Sherlock’s nipples felt like glowing embers, much abused, but much loved at the same time. Sherlock wondered if this dizzying rush of confusion and care was normal, and apparently mumbled said question aloud, because John laughed as he led Sherlock back to the bed. 

 

“Everybody feels it differently, I think. But yes, there are always a lot of emotions in a scene.” John popped the cap of some lotion, and gently began to smooth it on, starting in a wide circle around Sherlock’s right nipple. Sherlock whined, then hissed as John’s fingers met his nipple. He’d not been prepared, having closed his eyes again. When had that happened?

 

John’s voice soothed his anxiety, “You just lie back and let me take care of you now, hmm?”

 

“Yes, John,” Sherlock mumbled, and floated in the sensations of being thoroughly cared for. 

 

*&*&*

 

The next week was a thoroughly satisfying mix of being pampered through the aftermath of enduring everything John wished to deal out. Sherlock’s nipples were given a day or two at most to recover from each new thing John subjected them to before he introduced the next thing. Sometimes Sherlock was dearly grateful for the recovery time, like after the sandpaper experiment, but others he was impatient, eager to try the next thing. The menthol session was one of those.

 

“Tiger Balm?” Sherlock queried. 

 

John answered with a question of his own. “You know how it’s not supposed to go on certain areas?” 

 

Sherlock shrugged. He’d never been one for athletics, or general self-care after a strenuous chase, really. 

 

John’s eyebrows rose, “Well, you’ll see. Open your shirt.”

 

Sherlock obeyed, fingers finding his buttons with thoughtful slowness as he tried to imagine the sensation, prepare himself. 

 

“Quicker,” John clicked his fingers. 

 

Sherlock sped up, a little embarrassed at how eager he was to follow John’s lead on this. “So, in keeping with our experimental mindset, what’s your hypothesis?” 

 

“Hypothesis is the menthol, and considering how it soaks into mucosal tissues, will torment and arouse you when applied to your pert little nipples.” John replied, smirking. “However, some people don’t feel it much, and others hate it with the passion of a thousand suns, so,” John gestured vaguely, “We try it, see what you think.” 

 

Sherlock nodded, finishing with his last button, and opened his shirt. He looked down at his nipples, and while they were little, he failed to see how they were pert, or much different than other peoples. 

 

John opened the cap, squeezed some out onto his fingers, and smeared it generously on Sherlock’s chest, rubbing it into each nub. Sherlock enjoyed the application at least.

 

The tingling started very soon after, the coolness of the gel countered by a warming sensation. Sherlock sat next to John, simply paying attention to his body. 

 

“Well?” John prompted, after a minute or so.

 

“It is somewhat arousing,” Sherlock concluded, “I can feel it a little, but honestly, it’s you who are making this...fun. I like being your subject.” 

 

John smiled, eyes creasing, “Not very effective as a torment, then, check. I’ll have to try it elsewhere on you when I feel like making you bend over. That’s pretty universally effective.”

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I see.” 

 

“I do love seeing you squirm.” John agreed, “But rules dictate a rest period, maybe that will be torment enough, hmm?” 

 

Sherlock sighed, head hitting the back of the couch. “Do we have to?’

 

John laughed. “Now we certainly do, and if I catch you playing with yourself during it’ll turn into two days, got it?” 

 

“Yes, John,” Sherlock said, and then pouted until John kissed it off him.

 

*&*&*

 

Eventually they reached a point where, having tried most everything, they moved on to the next stage. John began layering sensations, allowing less time for healing, leaving Sherlock in a constant state of soreness. 

 

John pushed into Sherlock inside their door as they kissed, their chests molding together. Sherlock pushed back, John’s shirt clenched in his hand, returning the kiss. The successful resolution of a case always left them a little on edge. 

 

“You’re getting the pumps tonight,” John murmured, tracing a finger across Sherlock’s chest, and even covered in three layers of clothing, Sherlock felt it. His return smile was half-grimace, the pumps were not his favorite toys, but he was happy to have the promise of John’s attention to return him to his body after a day spent entirely inside his head. 

 

Brain work exhilarated him, but body work - body play? - allowed his brain a rest. John had proven that it let him think better and faster, and Sherlock had even taken to requesting a scene in the middle of tough cases, to allow for processing. Lestrade wasn’t sure what to make of Sherlock’s new apparently willingness to go home for the night, but he certainly wasn’t complaining, either.

 

“And after,” John continued, bringing Sherlock’s attention back, “I think I want you bound, a solid layer of rope between your limbs, everything square and forty-five degree angles…a few pieces of hessian to irritate here.” John stroked the other side of Sherlock’s chest. “I think you’ll make a nice serving tray, or maybe a foot rest. We’ll try out a few different positions, hmm?” 

 

Shuddering internally at the image, Sherlock kissed John again, deeply. John accepted the kiss as the thanks it was. 

 

The slow coil of rope around his limbs started the process of binding Sherlock inside his body mentally as well as physically. John started with his arms, having Sherlock kneel on a pillow and hold them out in front of him, grasping a bar to keep them steady and parallel. The feel of it tugging and holding him in place, limiting his movement, the low whirs and slaps of it rubbing against itself and hitting the ground as John pulled it through and around, all this made him hyper-aware of his body. How being nude next to a fully clothed John made him uncomfortable, the reactions of his body on display and vulnerable to judgement and interference. 

 

The ropes didn’t prevent him closing his arms and legs, but they kept him from opening them more than a foot apart. The closely spaced loops ranged from wrist to elbow, and ankle to knee, giving him space to bend them. Held straight and level, they looked something like a lawn or pool chair, and could probably act as a base for a tray.

 

John proved that one immediately after attaching small rubber pumps to Sherlock’s nipples. “Ten minutes,” he said, pushing a few buttons on his phone, most likely to set up the timer. They’d used that function quite a few times now. 

 

Sherlock sat on his folded legs, arse brushing against the ropes. Facing away from the television John was watching, Sherlock worked his jaw to get used to the ear plugs John had put in to keep him from being distracted. He held his arms out, level and unsupported. The weight of the metal tray and cup didn’t feel like much at first, the sensation of his nipples being pulled away from his chest equal or greater. As the time passed, the noise of the telly rising and fading as it changed between programs and commercials, it grew harder to keep his arms steady, his muscles burning at the constant weight. Sherlock was relieved when John’s phone chirped and he was allowed to relax. 

 

His nipples, on the other hand, were still in for it. Pulling off the pumps with a pop, John ran the thin, scratchy lines of hessian around and over the distended flesh. Even the first touch irritated the newly sensitized skin, and Sherlock grimaced. John took out the ear plugs, slow and gentle.

 

“Doing okay?” John asked, eyes searching. 

 

Sherlock nodded. Just because he didn’t enjoy this as much as the rest was no reason to call it off. He’d agreed to let John decide what they did when they came to this, with only a few exceptions. The humiliation, bondage, exertion, pain, it was all adding up to put Sherlock in a different state. His sensitivity annoyed him now, but not because it was a distraction from his thoughts. Sherlock felt tethered, like a bird in jesses flapping its wings. Soon enough his brain would stop rebelling, and settle, giving him some much needed peace.

 

“Foot rest time,” John said, decisive, “You’re going to be active here. I tap once, you go to hands and knees. Twice, and you fold to your elbows and knees, keeping your back straight, got it?” 

 

“Yes, John.”

 

“Good man.” John adjusted the rope unnecessarily, making Sherlock wince. John’s pleased smile warmed Sherlock beyond reason, reminding him why he let John take the lead.

 

Sherlock settled into his new position, cushioned by a folded blanket, John’s sock-covered feet resting heavily on his back. 

 

John ran his feet over the ropes criss-crossing Sherlock’s back every now and then, reminding him, his mind slowing even further. A delicate double tap prompted him to move, and it almost felt natural now, obeying commands this way. He knew without a doubt that turning his head to watch the telly would be out of bounds. He was furniture, there to be placed and moved as John wished. Thinking was beyond his purview. Feeling pain was almost beyond it, in a way, but John also wanted that. And Sherlock was here to give John what he wanted. A thinking, feeling piece of furniture, bound to serve. It was a perverse use of him, Sherlock thought, knew, and he gloried in it. 

 

His mind stopped fighting soon after, and everything turned hazy. Sherlock often lost time inside his own head, but losing it inside his body felt entirely different. Every thought felt like a different time zone, every brush of his oversensitive nipples against hessian a torture that was only right. He could do nothing about it, and probably deserved it. 

 

A single tap brought him up, swaying a bit, and John’s feet slipped under him to play with his nipples. Sherlock moaned at the pleasure/pain, mouth open, utterly un-self-conscious. 

 

“Ooh, found your happy place?” John asked. 

 

Sherlock heard his voice like it was coming through water, managed to decipher the message mainly through the tone, and nodded. His head was drooping now, breaths deep and even, each one a roller coaster. The ratchet up and fall down... John’s order and touch were the only thing keeping him from truly falling. No need to disappoint John. 

 

John stroked down Sherlock’s spine, warm, making the ropes twinge against his nipples. “That’s right, you just float for a while.”

 

Sherlock smiled, and did just that.

 

*&*&*

 

John spent the next day using his hands and mouth on Sherlock’s sore nubs. 

 

“I haven’t had a day without toys in a while,” John said, a tiny smirk planted on his face. He reached under the breakfast table with a foot, and Sherlock jumped when it landed on his crotch. “You ever tried to come from nipple stimulation alone?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, eyes wide. His nipples weren’t particularly sore, although there was some minor irritation from the ropes. John kept him shirtless, backing him against the wall to play with them: rubbing lotion in, or just twisting and pinching. Pushing him down on the couch, John spent a good ten minutes licking, sucking, and biting. Sherlock felt hunted, almost, off-balance, unsure when John would attack next. It felt good, though, what he did. Even the sparks of pain made Sherlock’s gut tighten, his cock fill a bit more. He got used to having at least a partial erection most of the time after the first hour.

 

It took until the end of the day, when John had put Sherlock on the floor in front of him, watching telly. The light, absent brushes of John’s fingers around and over Sherlock’s chest made him pant, and, finally, with a surprised protest, arch, shooting into his pants. 

 

“Was that...” John sounded surprised. “Well, then.” 

 

Sherlock felt his face burning. He’d not come so thoughtlessly since he was a child. John hauled him up for a kiss, and notice his expression. 

 

“Hey, hey. This is good. I liked that. Was that too much for you?” John kept his hands on Sherlock’s waist, concern palpable. 

 

“I didn’t think it’d happen,” Sherlock mumbled. “Feel like a kid.” 

 

John leaned in for another kiss. “We don’t have to do that again if you don’t want to, but I found it ridiculously hot.” He shifted in his seat, and Sherlock noticed how hard John was. 

 

“Oh,” Sherlock felt relieved at John’s words, and the sudden lack of expectation, real or otherwise, made him take a new perspective on it. 

 

“I...could do it again, just not in my pants.” 

 

John nodded, a grin on his face, “A reasonable request. Seeing you come naked will be even better, I think.”

 

Sherlock felt caught between grinning back and screwing up his face. He tried a different tack. “And I’d love to take care of that for you after I clean up.” Sherlock let his eyes dip down to John’s crotch again.

 

John planted another quick kiss on Sherlock’s lips and then pushed him up. “Go on, then.” 

 

It wasn’t a surprise that John made Sherlock play with his own nipples while he gave John a blowjob. Sherlock, as he balanced the two different physical tasks, felt like someone had finally noticed his capacity for more. He pinched his nipples and let the moan at how sore he was tease John’s cockhead, before plunging down slowly to take all of him. 

 

“That’s- that’s good, yeah.” 

 

*&*&*

 

Sherlock looked up at the fading daylight in the sky, ignoring the small amount of people passing by on the pavement. The city smelled rich and familiar: car exhaust mingling with perfumes and the constant undertone of rotting garbage. Sherlock felt like just one more blood cell in the pumping heart of London, and it soothed him.

 

“You going to stand there all night?” John asked, bringing Sherlock back to the present. 

 

Sherlock focused on the smaller man who had appeared at his side. “We know what we want. There was no reason to go inside without you.” 

 

John smiled warmly at this. It was both maddening and pleasing that Sherlock could make John happy by being himself, but he did wish sometimes he knew why such a simple thing as facts provoked such a reaction. 

 

“Was that sentimental? I didn’t mean to be.” 

 

John laughed, “It could’ve been, if you hadn’t just ruined it. Let’s go inside.” 

 

Sherlock had been inside shops like this before. Tattooers and piercers always seemed to have tiny spaces filled with a chair or two, designs and displays lining the walls. 

 

“You Sherlock?” A heavily pierced and tattooed woman moved towards them, dark skin decorated with bright colors, one ear so struck through with metal Sherlock approximated that she’d be at least a pound lighter without it. 

 

Sherlock nodded, “Gina?” 

 

“That’s me. My partner told me about how you helped her out.” Gina moved forward, hand outstretched. Sherlock took it, returning the firm pressure. She turned to John. “This one yours?” 

 

John smiled, small and sincere, offering his own hand. “He’s mine, really, but I don’t fuss about it. John Watson.”

 

Gina took a look up and down, and nodded. “So, you boys here for a piercing?”

 

“Yes, I want my nipples done. Titanium bars, small gauge, set horizontally.”

 

“A man who knows what he wants.” Gina gestured towards the nearest chair. “Take a seat, take off your shirt, and I’ll get my equipment.”

 

They approved the simple barbells Gina offered, and then watched as Gina rolled a small cart over, wiped down her equipment with alcohol, and broke the seal on a new needle. 

 

“You have problems with needles or blood, tell me now,” Gina said. “I’ve got a whole spiel about how safe this is, and some tricks so you don’t feel it as much.”

 

“No problems,” Sherlock replied. “I’m actually rather excited to watch. I’ve never had a piercing done before. Tracking my healing and other responses will be interesting.” 

 

John laughed. “Should have guessed you had more than one reason to say yes to this. I’ll be fine,” he added at Gina’s look, “I’m a doctor.”

 

“He’s my live-in,” Sherlock said, just a touch smug. “I’ll be well taken care of.”

 

John rolled his eyes, but took Sherlock’s hand after he removed his shirt. 

 

Gina wiped down his nipples with a sterile wipe, the air and alcohol cooling them off enough to pebble. Taking one in gentle fingers, she spoke, “Here good?”

 

Sherlock considered. “Acceptable.”

 

“Take a breath and let it out for me,” Gina instructed, and the gun clicked as soon as Sherlock’s chest settled lower. Sherlock barely winced. The next went the same way. Sherlock was disappointed at the lack of blood, but not the muted stinging pain of it. 

 

John insisted on leaving a tip, and after taking a list of instructions on helping the new piercings heal, the men went on their way. 

 

Strolling back down the street, far more aware of his chest than he had been in days, Sherlock smiled. 

 

“Missed it?” John asked. 

 

“Actually, yes,” Sherlock answered, “who would have thought?” 

 

John smirked, “I did, of course. I can’t wait ‘til those heal up. We’ve got a whole new area to explore.”

 

“Sounds delightful,” Sherlock replied. “In the meantime, maybe you can turn your attentions elsewhere?”

 

“Hmm…” John considered it, eyes scanning Sherlock, “I suppose. Did you have something in mind?” 

 

Sherlock smirked. “Of course. How do you feel about cock and ball torture?”


End file.
